


Love & War

by songbvrd



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Canon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I'm sorry for this, M/M, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, Soulmate AU, follows mostly movie canon except with a twist, idk what to tag, they know thomas will kill newt some day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songbvrd/pseuds/songbvrd
Summary: Newt has one name on each of his wrists. One is the name of his soulmate, the other is the name of his killer. Both wrists say Thomas.Newt battles his own fear, concern and mortality as he gets to know Thomas, and learns the hard way that you can't fight fate.Based on a prompt given on tumblr.
Relationships: Minho & Newt & Thomas (Maze Runner), Minho & Newt (Maze Runner), Minho & Thomas (Maze Runner), Newt & Thomas (Maze Runner), Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	Love & War

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So first of all, blame tumblr user @thatsolacekid for this, because it's 100% their fault! 
> 
> This is some heavy angst stuff, please be forewarned. It's all canon typical and stays within mostly the existing plot, but obviously includes the twist of the soulmate au.
> 
> It will also amp up as it goes along, since we're going through certain moments of the series. I promise it gets more interesting as it goes along!
> 
> As always, please feel free to leave any/all comments! This is my first time writing MCD, so I hope it's alright! Come yell at me on twitter or tumblr at @songbvrd! Thanks for reading <3

“Thomas!” The boy yelled, sounding at once deeply relieved and excited, “My name! It’s Thomas!” 

There was a moment of pregnant, awkward silence, and then everyone cheered. People jumped forward to hug him, to congratulate him, and Newt, who had been sitting at his side only minutes before, suddenly felt like he had to leave before he suffocated on the air around him. The air, thick and toxic, seemed to shudder with realisation. 

It had to be. What else could it mean?

He slipped away from the group easily enough, everyone distracted by congratulating Thomas on getting his identity back. Usually Newt would be the first to hug him, give him a clap on the back, tell him that he was one of them now. Looking after the Greenies had become one of Newt’s weird specialties. His ability to look after them, to calm them down, to be trustworthy without being pandering, to be authoritative without being a bully. 

But not this time. Not this Greenie. 

Newt knew the print on his arms had always been… unusual. To have both was fairly rare within the Glade. Not everyone even had them. Some only had one, and that was by far the kinder fate. Others had none, and Newt would’ve easily swapped that for what he actually had too. Newt had long since decided that he would rather uncertainty than dread. 

One on each wrist. Perfectly neat. Perfectly symmetrical. 

_ Thomas.  _

It was something they knew, inherently, like they were brought into the world knowing on some intrinsic level. 

Thomas was his soulmate (and that wasn’t always romantic. It could exist in any capacity.) 

Thomas would kill him. 

He had often wondered if WICKED had orchestrated this, or if everyone in the world had them. It could easily be another sick test. Another game to see how they’d respond. How did Newt deal with knowing this man was at once the love of his life and his ultimate demise? 

There was an unspoken rule around the Glade. It was nobody else’s right to tell someone else what was written on their wrists. Nobody would tell Thomas his name was permanently burned onto Newt. Nobody would tell him how Newt had been a marvel when he’d revealed his. How he was the only one with the same name on both wrists. How it had become a point of awkwardness, then of sympathy, ultimately of mocking. They had long since bored themselves with it, and no one really mentioned it anymore.

He was sure they would again now. The infamous Thomas. How would he kill Newt?

He sat alone in their woods, contemplating this.

Three thoughts crossed his mind.

The first, that perhaps if he didn’t know Thomas, Thomas couldn’t kill him. Perhaps he could prevent it by never being around Thomas, by never knowing him. Perhaps if Thomas was some distant creature, the two would never intersect, and Newt could somehow circumvent his fate. Maybe it wasn’t set in stone. Maybe it could change. He’d never seen or heard of such a thing— but then, they were cut off in the Glade. They knew so little about it all past the memories they woke up with. 

What Newt did know was that he’d never seen one be wrong before. When George had Nick’s name on his arm, it was Nick who had put him out of his misery in the end. When Nick had Alby’s name, that had been true too. Winston and Jeff had each other, and surely enough, they were dating shortly after meeting, cute and sure of each other. So sure. Newt hadn’t been able to fathom. 

The second was that it was entirely possible that the two were two different Thomases. The problem was that Newt absolutely did not believe that to be true. It wasn’t like there were a plethora of people running around in the Glade. And it couldn’t be a coincidence. Still, for his own sanity, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. 

The third, and perhaps worst, was that if this boy was both his soulmate and his killer, that meant that boy, the overly curious one with the pretty eyes and freckles all over his face, would have to kill his own soulmate. He wanted to be purely selfish about this, felt like he deserved to be, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what that would mean. How did someone live with that? Taking the life of their own soulmate? 

Of course he would be worrying about what this meant for Thomas when he was just realising he’d met his own killer. And his own soulmate. Of course. 

Well, Newt would just have to avoid him then. Thomas would surely have Newt’s name on his own wrist (which he hadn’t mentioned, interestingly), but he almost certainly had no idea that Newt had  _ his  _ name on both wrists. But Newt could do this. He could keep his distance from Thomas. Be civil. Be polite. Be distant. Thomas hadn’t mentioned it to Newt, hadn’t even asked, maybe he’d been too distracted to check them. Maybe he had forgotten what they meant. Maybe he didn’t want to know Newt either. Maybe they would simply avoid each other.

*

“Oi, fearless leader!” 

“I’m not the buggin’ leader.”

“Whatever, you’re the second.” Minho scoffed as he dropped down beside Newt. Newt knew exactly why he was there. He’d been avoiding everyone for a few days already, speaking only in short bursts and barely to anyone he was close to. He’d carefully dodged Gally, Minho and Thomas, with only Alby managing to actually get his attention. He was sure Alby would want to know at some point, but he hadn’t asked yet, and Newt was incredibly relieved. 

“Can we not?” 

“Calm down, shank, I just came to check on ya.”

Newt sighed deeply, refusing to meet Minho’s eyes. The dark eyes of his best friend were too much right now— he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist spilling how he felt if Minho pushed hard enough on the right buttons. 

“Yeah. I’m good, mate. No need to check in.”

“Newt…”

“Minho.”

“You gotta talk to him.”

He glanced up at Minho, and was frustrated to find that the other boy looked genuinely nervous. He had saved Newt’s life once before, and Newt would never get through owing him for that. But still, now that the boy who would kill him was here, he could be gone any day now. No guarantees. No promises.

“Do I?”

“Yeah. I mean, he’s got your name too, Newt. He’s not stupid, he knows you’re avoiding him.”

“So?” Newt asked, “Maybe he should know. He knows we’re soulmates or whatever, he doesn’t know he’s going to kill me. It’s safer for both of us if we don’t know each other. I mean… think about it, Min. If he kills me, that… it buggin’ sucks, but then that’s it. If I’m his soulmate, he has to live with that. With killing me. It’s easier if he doesn’t know me.”

“Are you kidding me, slinthead?”

“What?”

“You’re worried about  _ him?”  _ He asked, skeptically. “You just met the soulmate who’s going to kill you and you’re worried about him?” Straight away, Newt felt awkward and uncomfortable. The whole thing was wildly overwhelming, and Newt was trying to be logical about his total fear and distrust.

“What do you expect me to do, Minho? Kill him before he kills me? Pretend I don’t know what I know?”

“ _ Talk  _ to him. The two of you seemed to be getting on really well before he remembered his name.” 

“But I remember now!”

“So what’s the goal then, Newt? What’s your plan? Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

Newt didn’t have a good plan. His plan was to avoid everyone, but it was obvious that wasn’t working. He was still the second in command, still one of the few people known and trusted by all. Ignoring it could only work so long anyway— surely eventually someone would get frustrated and tell Thomas. Or maybe just force Newt to talk to him somehow. And what if Newt ignoring him was  _ why  _ Thomas would kill him? Maybe he’d be stung and be angry that Newt avoided him? People were always unpredictable when they were stung. 

“I don’t know, Minho. My plan is to… to steer clear until I can think of a good plan.”

Minho looked worried again, and Newt wished he would stop. He was worried enough without Minho’s fear rubbing off on him too. 

“Listen… Newt, you know I’ll do whatever I can to save you, right? Everyone’s keeping a close eye on him, yeah? All the Keepers, most of the Glade boys. But he’s… sort of like a confused puppy, honestly. He just wanders around asking people questions until they tell him to shuck off. I think he’s hoping he’ll find you somewhere.”

The thought hurt Newt’s heart. This boy wandering around trying to make friends, trying to get to know his soulmate, while Newt avoided him without explanation or warning. He probably thought he was being rejected— but Newt was trying to deal with a kind of emotional turmoil he couldn’t ever put to words. It was like he felt so much it all froze in his heart. Like it overwhelmed him so much that it all went cold and quiet. 

It was barely a few hours later Newt decided on a better course. He was going to be present, but distant. He was going to be nice to Thomas, civil, even maybe a little friendly, but he was absolutely not going to catch feelings for the newer Glader. He could do that. Everyone kept saying how annoying Thomas was anyway. How he wouldn’t stop asking questions. Surely it’d be a piece of cake to simply… dislike him. 

He sat in the Garden, a little away from most, but not unfriendly. Anybody could have joined him easily at any time. He figured, for now, that was enough.

“Hi.” Thomas dropped down beside Newt and the taller boy nearly jumped out of his skin. That hadn’t taken bloody long. “Been looking for you.”

“Mm.” Newt answered neutrally, hoping that would act as some deterrent. He should’ve realised that nothing seemed to deter Thomas. Ever.

“I suppose you’re busy though.” He seemed thoughtful, like he was probing Newt. Newt hated it. A good looking Greenie who seemed interested in him. Why couldn’t he just have that? Oh no, he had to shoulder the weight of knowing this boy would kill him one day. He didn’t want to look him in the eyes. He kept his sleeves carefully covering his wrists. Nobody ever commented when someone else hid theirs. It was accepted amongst the Gladers that these things were private. Although everyone knew all about Newt’s. “Being the uh, almost-leader and all.”

“Yup.” Shuck, this kid was so bright eyed and bushy tailed, clearly trying to get an insight whilst also fighting his own urge to talk more, to push for information. It would’ve been endearing if Newt wasn’t so stressed. Hell, it was endearing anyway. 

“So! What does the second in command do anyway? Like day to day? What does Alby do? You told me more about the other Keepers and jobs but I don’t know much about yours. How does a leader get picked anyway?”

Newt was pretty sure the kid would talk forever if he didn’t intercept at some point.

“Christ, Tommy, slim it. I oversee a lot of stuff. The new Greenies, the individual groups. I check on supplies and make sure everyone’s doing okay. I also account for the runners in the morning and afternoon. Alby has to make all the tough calls. I’m more the on the ground stuff.” Newt spoke as flatly as possible, hoping to get across that he wasn’t really interested in talking. 

“Oh.” A brief pause, “And how did you guys get the jobs?”

He sighed, “It’s a long, convoluted story. Alby and I were chosen. Everything is selected by council.” He told Thomas, whose eyes seemed to light up even more. 

“Who chose the councils?”

“The individual groups selected someone. Mostly it’s whoever has the most Type A personality. Sometimes it’s whoever’s best at his job.” He shrugged, “Or the most responsible. Different people for different reasons. But we’ve only got two cooks and two med-jacks, so jobs like those… well, it tends to be fairly easy to decide who represents them on the council.”

Thomas took a breath like he was going to talk again and Newt cut him off before he could. “What’s with the twenty questions? You’ll learn over time, mate.” 

Thomas blinked at him, and Newt thought he seemed more like a confused puppy with every passing moment. Perhaps he’d start calling Thomas ‘Bark’. He tried not to smile, but failed.

This was the shucking soulmate thing, wasn’t it? The clunk other people found annoying about Thomas, Newt found endearing. That was why Thomas was his soulmate. 

“I want to get to know you better.” Thomas said, suddenly sounding nervous. Newt’s stomach lurched. “You’re avoiding me.”

It wasn’t a question, which was good, because Newt had no good lie. 

“Is it because of the Label?” The Label. What the Gladers had dubbed the marks. Like Greenbean or shank or slinthead, the Label was another one of their very own. A custom of theirs. “Because y’know I don’t expect anything of you and I—“

“I don’t believe in them.”

A total lie. Newt couldn’t not believe in them because he’d only ever seen them be accurate. Everyone knew they were real. Everyone with any sense. But hey, maybe Newt could play rebel. 

“Oh.” Thomas looked down, and Newt felt a rush of guilt. Bloody Thomas and his bloody cute face. “Why?”

“Don’t know.” Newt lied as casually as he could, not glancing Thomas’ way. Not trusting himself to. “I guess I don’t like the idea of being trapped with someone with no control, without deciding any of it for myself.”

Trapped was a harsh word, and he felt like he could see the impact of it on Thomas’ face. 

“Well… I don’t want you to feel trapped with me, but I… can’t we at least be friends?” He asked, “I thought we were… getting along well before I remembered my name…”

Newt frowned, and he felt guilt for all of it. For being distant, for lying, for Thomas being stuck with him… for what it would mean for Thomas to have to kill him. 

“Yeah… we can be friends.”

*

“Don't do it, Tommy! Don’t you bloody do it!” The words ripped through him and his chest burned, watching helplessly as Thomas slipped through his fingers, the maze walls closing behind them with a resolute and silent bang.

And then everyone looked to Newt. Alby stung. Minho inside. Thomas inside. 

Newt was the leader now. Newt was the leader and everyone was waiting for him to say something. Newt knew he had to say something. It was his job to say something. “Everyone back to work.” He managed, but he doubted anyone was buying the attempt at authoritarianism. The Gladers were a family, which meant they knew. 

What do you get when your two best friends and your soulmate run into a maze from which nobody ever survives the night? As if being thrust into the leadership position wasn’t scary enough, Newt had just watched the barriers close, watched them get trapped inside, and with them, his heart. 

He might be stuck out here, but his heart was inside that maze with them, and he was positive that if they didn’t return, his heart never would either. 

Chuck looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. “Do you think they’ll survive?”

“No, Chuckie.” Newt said softly, “No, I don’t.” 

Still, Newt didn’t move. He and Chuck stayed dutifully outside the maze, waiting. 

It was hours before they began to talk. 

“Do you love him?” Chuck asked, his voice quiet, curious. His own wrist had only one word, and it wasn’t one anyone wanted to see or read. Gally. No soulmate. Only a cause of death. Gally had sworn blind he would never hurt Chuck. After years of friendship, Newt believed him. Gally wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t cruel. He loved the Gladers. 

“I don’t know.” Newt said quietly, “It's a weird feeling. it’s like… it’s like a shadow. I don’t know him that well, so love feels… strong. Too strong. But at the same time, it’s like I can already feel it. I already know I  _ will  _ love him. It’s like it’s there whether I want it or not.”

“And do you want it?” A fair question.

Thomas was incredibly brave. He was curious and bright and friendly. Fiercely loyal. He ran headfirst into certain death for two men he barely knew. For Newt’s two best friends. And now he’d lost all three of them. Now he’d lost everything. 

“Yes.” He said slowly. “There’s a good chance he’ll come out of that maze stung tomorrow morning. He’ll attack me, and he’ll kill me. He’ll see his name on both my wrists and he’ll know— and he’ll have to live with that forever.”

“And do you… are you going to try to stop it?”

“No.” Newt said softly. “No, I’m not.”

When he awoke the following morning, the doors were not yet open. Newt’s heart ached. He was terrified. Either he died today, or the three most important people in his life did. He didn’t want either, but he knew which he’d take. 

_ Just let Minho be safe,  _ he thought.  _ If Tommy and Alby are stung, are gonna attack me, just let Minho be safe.  _

Newt had been in the maze as long as anyone, in the first batch of people and it wasn’t that he hadn’t had to be the leader before. He had. He had filled in for Alby many times, and mostly, people answered to him as if he was a leader anyway because he handled so much of the day to day. He’d always had that responsibility, that was fine. He could deal with that. But that on top of all this grief? How could he take responsibility for all of them? He was only a kid himself, no smarter, no wiser than anyone else. He was only a kid himself, and one who would have lost the people he loved more than anyone else. There was nothing he could do to save them now, only sit and wait.

And that was if he even survived until tomorrow night.

The doors opened, and Newt’s heart lurched, and he thought he might suffocate on the horrors of it all.

“See, Chuck? I told you. No one survives a night in the maze.” He turned, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to survive this way. Trying to figure out how to lead without them. Without Alby, who had been his best friend when he first entered the maze, who had trusted him with everything. Without Minho, who had saved his life in more ways than one. Without Thomas, the love of his life he’d never even gotten to love. 

But then they were there, and Newt couldn't think, and Thomas was alive and un-stung. That night had been the most terrifying night of all. Wondering how he could be a leader whilst dealing with the grief of losing all three of them. Alby had been stung, but Minho and Thomas… at least they were okay. And when Minho confirmed that Thomas saved Alby, that he’d killed a griever, any hope Newt ever had of hating or ignoring him was gone completely. And maybe it was always going to be, because he and Thomas were meant to be or whatever, and how could anyone not like Thomas?

How could Newt possibly not like Thomas?

*

“We can’t. And we can’t just have non-runners going off into the maze whenever they feel like it, can we? So let’s just make it official. Starting tomorrow, you’re a runner.”

Newt knew it would be controversial. He knew Gally was pissed, and that different Gladers would see it as preferential treatment. Maybe it kind of was, if he really thought about it. But the truth was, Thomas was the only one getting them even remotely close to getting out of there. The only one who even had a chance of saving them. He was bolder than the rest of them, smart in a way they hadn’t been up till now. Maybe lucky too, in part, but they could honestly use that too.

Gally would resent him for it; say he was giving special treatment. Newt didn’t understand why Gally didn’t want out of there just as badly as the rest of them. Surely a world out there couldn’t be worse. Surely, whatever this was, there was something on the other side. Parents, maybe. Hope. A life. Something outside of what they had here. The great nothingness of it all.

“Hey, Newt…” He turned. Thomas was the only one left, and he looked uncharacteristically shy in the moment. Their relationship had become something unusual. Newt had no bloody idea what it was, but he knew it was dangerous for him. That it made him feel weak. Newt didn’t speak, he just looked at Tommy, waiting for whatever the boy was going to say.

“I’m, uh…” He began, but then stopped. Newt just waited, feeling oddly nervous waiting to hear what Thomas was going to say. “Thanks, Newt.”

The blonde kept his eyes for a moment, nodding once more. “Thank  _ you.”  _ He said after a moment, glad no one else was here to hear the conversation. He wouldn’t say it in front of someone else.

“Me?” Thomas’ brows furrowed, and Newt tried not to smile. Not to soften. “For what?”

“For bringing my best friends back.” He said after a moment, moving to sit tiredly on one of the benches. Alby was as good as done for regardless probably, but it didn’t change a thing in practice. He was back. With them. If there was any chance at all of saving him, Thomas had brought that back. “And for… not bloody dying out there.” 

Thomas moved to sit beside him, more ginger and careful about it than Newt had been. He sat a little closer than Newt was expecting, and the blonde boy hated the way it made his stomach turn when their hands brushed together. Stupid shuck feelings. He didn’t ask for this. 

“I… did the wrong thing, I know, but—”

“When you ran in after them… do you know what I thought? The very first thing?”

Thomas looked concerned, like he thought the other shoe was about to drop. Maybe he thought Newt was about to say something awful. 

“I thought I’d never recover from losing all three of you.” He said softly. “I thought every attempt I’d made not to get attached to you had failed.”

Thomas gave him a look, like he was trying to figure out if Newt was fucking with him or telling him the truth. He looked so forlorn that Newt almost felt guilty for the distance. But then he remembered why he was doing it. Why he had been trying. Didn’t matter now, he’d failed anyway. Too late to go back on that. Maybe that was always meant to happen. Maybe there was no escaping it no matter what he tried. Maybe he just had to accept that the most he could do was try to fit as much love in before the inevitable death as he could.

“Oh.” Thomas’ eyes fluttered. After a moment, and a moment of quiet bravery he could both respect and admire, he felt Thomas’ hand slip into his.

Newt took a sharp breath. Held it. “I can’t.”

Thomas looked confused again, looked heartbroken again. Newt diverted his eyes to the ceiling, far away from Thomas’ disarming vulnerability and his attentive, searching eyes. Far away from the way he folded his hands awkwardly in his lap, unsure what to do with them. Far away from splattered freckles and dopey running where his feet always touched his butt, always running like he was running for his life even when he wasn’t. It hurt Newt to do, but he couldn’t explain. He couldn’t tell Thomas he was actually trying to protect him. The more involved they got, the worse it would be for the brunette boy when he inevitably had to kill him. 

“I still want to be friends though.” He said slowly, “I still want to know you, I just… can’t do that.” He said quickly. 

Thomas was quick about his nod, and Newt knew he had no right to feel sad when Thomas quickly excused himself and left the way he’d come, as if the conversation had never happened.

*

“Shouldn’t go off alone,” A voice cut through the wind of the evening. It was weird, the weather here. Even when it was cold, it still felt… sticky. It still felt like the air was closing in on them, like a storm was always just on the edge of the sky, coming to wipe them all away and fill their lungs with death and desperation. Newt had thought sometimes about what would happen if he walked out into the middle of a storm, or in front of a gun. He didn’t want to die, he had something to live for now, but he wondered what would happen. Thomas was destined to kill him. What if Newt could somehow take that burden off of his hands?

“Why are you awake?” Newt asked, glancing up at Thomas for only a moment, before settling his eyes back on the ominously dark open space before him.

Thomas snorted, “Why are  _ you? _ With your leg, you should be resting every moment you can.” 

It had been a long time since Thomas was the scared kid in the Glade. At least, it felt like a long time, and things  _ felt  _ different. They’d lost more friends. Newt tried hard not to let his hope dwindle, the only way he seemed to be able to escape that was by focusing on Thomas. By putting his hope in Tommy.  _ His  _ Tommy. 

“Can’t sleep.” Newt admitted. He thought a lot about how he would die. He thought a lot about what it would mean. Why Thomas might ever, ever do it. He was beginning to think it would be an accident of some kind. Or maybe an inadvertent thing. Either way, he felt death closing in on him like the walls of the maze. Every day he followed Thomas, he walked towards it. He knew, and yet he kept following.

“What haven’t you told me?” Thomas said quietly. Newt glanced up at him, surprised by the question. Was he that obvious? With everything else going on, Thomas could tell that Newt was hiding something? He was, of course, and Thomas had become his best friend in a short time, but Newt had always stopped it going any further. Always carefully distanced himself or put someone else between them. It seemed cruel in a way, but he was doing it out of kindness. Or trying to. He had no idea what kindness in this situation even looked like. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t do that.” Thomas sat beside him in the sand, and before Newt could register it, there was a hand in his. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me. You’re obviously nowhere near as subtle as you think.” He only partially teased, though it sounded like he was genuinely worried as he spoke. He could tell Thomas was trying for gentle, but he was rash and excitable, so it was no great shock that that didn’t work out. 

And, after all this time, in the cold and the dark and the impending doom that weighed down over them all, Newt nodded and lifted an arm up. He pulled down his sleeve to show Thomas’ neatly printed name. The boy nodded, as though he didn’t understand. They’d already established that they were soulmates, after all. Then, just as silent, Newt held up his other wrist, pulling the sleeve back and showing the name Thomas, neatly printed a second time.

Thomas was dead silent. 

Newt didn’t know what to say, but he also knew it was probably a lot for Thomas to take in. He wasn’t surprised that the other boy didn’t know how to react at first. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how either. Even now. It was only getting harder and harder to deny that he wanted Thomas anyway. But maybe this would help. Maybe Thomas would put distance between them on his behalf. It would break Newt’s heart, but it might protect them both.

“Okay. Is that all…?”

Newt blanched. Was that all? Was the news that Thomas would kill Newt one day all? What else  _ was  _ there? 

“I… yes…?”

“Well, then, that’s fine.” Thomas said, surprisingly neutral. Newt just blinked at him. “I’m not going to kill you, so… whatever higher power or fate or whatever shank who put this on your arm can suck it.”

“It doesn’t work like that though,” Newt said quickly, “It said you were my soulmate and as hard as I’ve tried to ignore you and stay away, you just keep…”

“What…?” Thomas’ voice actually was soft now, quiet and gentle. If Newt wasn’t mistaken, maybe a little shy too. 

“You just keep sneaking your way back into my heart.” Newt managed. He could feel Thomas’ dark eyes on the side of his face in the dim light. He knew he had crossed a line into completely unknown territory, and he had no idea what to say. No idea what can of worms he’d just opened. Of how Thomas would react.

Thomas scooted closer, and their arms were touching, a quiet moment of intimacy and solidarity amongst the fear and uncertainty of the Scorch. He felt Thomas’ opposite hand in his hair, brushing it back off his forehead and out of his eyes, where the wind had been whipping it around for the past hour. Newt’s eyes closed, and he let himself have this one moment. The idea of what it was to be with Thomas. The idea of loving him and being loved by him in return. What it might feel like. He tried to imagine them happy together. Normal people in a normal life. People with real hope and real futures. 

He felt Thomas’ lips press against his. They were chapped and dry, as were Newt’s. He tasted salty and Newt felt like he could feel the mix of exhaustion and weariness combined with newfound hope. It was a moment of pure gentle amongst the harsh world they lived in. It was a shard of sunlight piercing through a storm. A gentle breeze breaking up a heatwave. It was love amongst death and chaos. A moment of peace and calm and  _ home.  _

Normal people with real hope and real futures. 

But that wasn’t them. They only had endless wasteland before them and death behind them. 

“I can’t.” Newt whispered softly, a repetition of what he had said before. 

“Can’t or won’t?” Thomas asked, his voice still gentle. “Newt, you know I—“

“Don’t.” Newt cut him off, his voice turned sharp and cold. “Don’t say that. I can’t… I don’t want to hear that.”

“But you already know.” There was so much subtext to the conversation, so much left in tension and pregnant pauses. 

“I can’t, Tommy. I’m sorry, I just… I can’t.”

“Goodnight, Newt.” Thomas said softly, pressing his lips against Newt’s cheekbone gently. 

Newt didn’t sleep that night.

*

Newt was going to die. It all made sense now, because of course it did. Of course this was how it happened. Of course this was how it ended. He could only go so long without telling them. Gally, Frypan, Brenda, Jorge, Vince… Thomas. 

If it was anyone other than Minho, Newt would’ve packed his bags and gotten gone. He would’ve taken himself to the other side of the world just to avoid the fate of Thomas being the one to end his life. Put a knife in his heart or a bullet in his head or any other of the countless horrible ways he might have to do it. 

But it was Minho, and Newt couldn’t live with himself if Minho wasn’t saved. If he didn’t do all he could to help save Minho. But Minho had saved him. Minho had been there for him when he’d had no one. Minho had been the only bright spot in a painful existence for a very long time. 

He wouldn’t leave Minho behind. Ever.

Still, every day it got a little harder. He found it harder to fill his lungs with air without pain. Harder to restrain the bubbling feeling of anger in his chest he knew didn’t belong to him. Harder to fight the urge to give up or to snark back. All his energy went into hiding it, to fighting it. Nobody knew yet, and he was relieved, but even as the plan got closer to fruition, he knew he was running out of time. 

He’d been on borrowed time since the day Tommy woke up in that box on the way up. 

The rush of anger he felt when Thomas seemed to defend Teresa, despite everything, despite her betrayal, despite what happened to Minho, made Newt feel sick. He wouldn’t be infected if not for her betrayal. Minho wouldn’t be gone. 

“What? You worried your little girlfriend’s going to get hurt?” The words were a rush of feeling, a distraction he couldn’t understand. He couldn’t have calmed down if he wanted to, couldn’t feel anything but grief and anger and  _ so much frustration  _ he thought it might suffocate him. He choked on it, the feeling of burning rage, the overwhelming sensation of hopelessness and fatigue for his life and its fast approaching end. 

Before he even knew what he was doing, Thomas was backed up against the wall, Newt’s forearm against his chest, so close their noses were touching. Thomas looked terrified and concerned. He looked so taken off guard that Newt knew the jig was up. Thomas knew. Hell, they all knew. How could they not?

His eyes flickered up and down Thomas' face. The softly parted lips. The look of total surprise. The fear in his eyes. Was Thomas afraid of him or afraid for him? He wasn’t sure which answer was worse. 

“Sorry.” Newt managed through the choking feeling in his throat. His entire body hurt. His limbs burned. His chest felt tight. He tore his eyes away from Tommy. “I’m sorry.” He told everyone else, and began walking away quickly, rubbing the place on his forearm where he knew the virus grew. 

He didn’t know what he was apologising for. For yelling? For interrupting the meeting? For shoving Thomas? For scaring them? For being sick and not telling anybody? 

He sat on the roof for barely five minutes before he felt the presence behind him. It was Thomas, because who else would it be? Who else would come to speak to him after something like that. 

Newt began speaking for something to do. 

“Suppose I can’t hide this anymore.” He pulled his sleeve up, showing Thomas the black veins that stretched over his pale forearm. Thomas’ name was still visible, but the veins were beginning to eat away at the word. How appropriate. “This arm has brought me nothing but bloody trouble.” He tried to laugh, but it sounded strangled and emotional.

“Why didn’t you tell me…?” He didn’t look back at Thomas, but he could hear the boy’s familiar voice and feel Tommy’s eyes burning into his skull. 

“Didn’t think it’d change anything.” Newt said softly. That was a lie though. He knew it would. He didn’t  _ want  _ it to change anything. Minho needed to be saved, Newt needed to help, Thomas needed to prioritise Minho. 

“It changes everything.” Thomas’ voice sounded quiet, emotional and deeply hurt. “Newt, it changes everything, you can’t… you’re  _ supposed  _ to be immune.” 

“I know.” Newt said softly, “But… clearly, I’m not. Figures, right?” He half smiled, sadly, desperate not to cry now. His emotions had won enough already today. He wouldn’t give the Flare anymore of himself than he was already losing. 

“We… you need to sit this out, we’ll find a way to get serum and we’ll—“ 

“No.” Newt cut him off quickly, shaking his head.

Thomas moved closer, and Newt could feel the rise in his emotions too. He had to actively focus on calming down, Thomas didn’t need emotion from him right now. All Newt ever really had to offer Thomas was quiet support and calm. Without that, he was nothing. 

“No? Newt, please, you’re not going to die like that. I don’t accept it, you’re supposed to die by my hand, and I am  _ going  _ to save you. Just watch me.” 

“Tommy…” Newt’s voice was soft. Thomas still stood behind him, but Newt couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at those toffee eyes or worried expressions. He couldn’t face it. The hurt and heartbreak. “The equation is already written. Don’t pretend not to see the answer. You’re too smart for that.”

“I am  _ not  _ going to kill you, Newt. Don’t… don’t ask me to do that, because I won’t.”

“Do you know how I got my limp, Tommy?” The blonde boy’s words were quiet as he looked over the city, quietly contemplating how the height of the walls were somewhat similar. How… poetic. 

“No…” Thomas sounded confused and worried, obviously not understanding where Newt was going with this point. 

Telling that story was a hard one, one he wasn’t really ready to tell. But he managed to keep his voice steady and his eyes down, knowing now what he didn’t know then. He didn’t want to die. He wanted a life. He wanted a future. But that didn’t matter, because he wasn’t going to get one. And if he had to die, he would ensure that Minho wouldn’t. 

“We save Minho,” He concluded, “No matter the cost.”

“We know the cost,” Thomas said softly. He was quieter now, but emphatic, and his eyes were wide and boring into Newt’s. Or trying to, while Newt tried not to look back at him. “And I’m not willing to pay it yet. We’re going to find a way to save you both, alright? If I’m the one that’s supposed to kill you, then I’m the one who decides that you get to live too. And I’m not killing you, Newt.”

Newt wasn’t sure when Thomas had moved to sit beside him, but he was there now, and Newt wished he wasn’t. He was too close, and his hope was infectious. 

“I need you to tell me that you will.” Newt said slowly. “I need to know that if…  _ when _ it happens, you’re not going to leave me as a crank, let me hurt someone else. I need to know you’re not going to leave me to turn into a monster.” 

“No. We’re not doing this, Newt, it won’t come to that.” Thomas said stubbornly, but now he was the one avoiding Newt’s eyes. Whatever strength Newt had been able to physically muster in his entire diseased body was going into looking at Thomas. Going into staying calm and authentic and convincing. 

“Okay. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you can save me…”

“—Don’t say that like you don’t believe it.”

“But if you don’t, then you need to promise you’ll kill me. It’s mercy, Tommy. I don’t want to live on as a monster. I don’t want to lose myself.”

“Newt, I will not—“

“I love you.”

There was a long stretch of complete silence. Newt had stopped Thomas any time he had tried to say those same words (and he had tried many times). He’d told him he didn’t want to hear them, or that he couldn’t take it. And it had been true. Because he knew already. He could see it in Thomas’ eyes and in his movements. In the way he grabbed for Newt’s hand when they were in some kind of trouble and the way he looked to Newt when he was scared or overwhelmed. He knew when Thomas would always sleep beside him at night, and he knew when Thomas would always step in front of Newt at the first sign of some danger.

He knew, and it hollowed him out and left him feeling empty and cold, because he could love Thomas  _ so _ much, but he could never love him enough to stop fate. 

And now that fate was right there, staring him in the eyes, there was no point denying it anymore. He loved Thomas, and Thomas loved him, and they were bound for goddamn tragedy from the moment that they met. 

“I love you too.” His reply was breathless, nearly inaudible, and Newt could almost pretend he hadn’t heard it. Almost. 

“So you’ll do it?” Newt managed, and he knew without looking that they were both crying. 

“It’s not going to come to that. We’re going to get you the serum long before it comes to that.”

“But if it does?” Newt pressed, glancing up at him. His long eyelashes stuck together in little pointed clumps, and Newt thought how crying only made them look more striking. 

“I’ll… I’ll make you a deal.” Thomas managed. “It’s not going to happen. It won’t. I won’t let it. But if… if there’s no other option, then I will. But… no more running from me. Or lying to me. You deserve… you deserve to let yourself be happy for at least a little bit before it all goes to hell. It’s only a week or so before the plan gets enacted and… I don’t want to walk into this never having… not being…”

“Okay.” Newt said softly. “Yeah, okay.” He’d spent so long holding out, not wanting to make it worse for Thomas by allowing this to happen, only for it to inevitably end bloody. But it would end bloody anyway, and maybe it would be crueler to leave him now with all the what-ifs. Maybe this was the last thing he could do for Tommy. 

Thomas’ lips met his again, but there wasn’t the same feeling of softness and happiness about it. Because he could feel tears where their faces met, and he knew they both knew, even if Tommy wasn’t ready to deal with it yet, that this was the end. Or at least, that the end was coming. 

This time, the kiss felt like it was a message. A silent exchange of everything they’d both been holding inside all this time. Love, fear, sadness, desperation, companionship. Home. That was the one constant. The sense of  _ home  _ he felt with his best friend. 

Thomas had told Newt they already knew what the price was. And Newt did. But in a way, he’d been paying that price for years. He hadn’t known before what he was paying it  _ for,  _ though. He’d only known he would face death at the love of his life’s hand. He hadn’t known he would do it in exchange for his best friend and saviour’s life. He hadn’t known that it would be Minho in exchange for him.

But now that he knew, he knew no amount of foresight would’ve changed this. No amount of preparation. Newt would always be willing to pay this price for Minho, and Thomas would’ve always been the one to end it. And at the very least, he could leave Thomas with, hopefully, his other best friend back. 

In the fading afternoon light, their kisses grew more desperate, more wanting, more needing. Newt had been pushing Thomas away for a long time, and he knew Thomas would’ve wanted this sooner if Newt would’ve let it happen. They both knew what they knew though. Newt knew that they had known for months that they loved each other. That they were loved in return. That, if they let themselves, this would be the complete, fulfilling love they both wanted it to be. 

Newt had never let it be though, out of fear that it would only make it harder when Thomas inevitably had to do the unthinkable. He’d never believed Thomas would hurt him by choice, but this… this was particularly horrific. It felt cruel to deny Tommy anything now. 

So he didn’t. He let himself fall completely into the moment, into this intimacy and this moment they had been building towards for so long. He let himself exist, for a few moments, only for Thomas, only with Thomas, and tried to forget about the impending torture they would both face because of WICKED and because they did love each other so much. It didn’t need to be said. It was there, in every touch and every moment of softness between them. Newt knew, and all he could do was long for a world where he’d get a future with the boy who had been so kind to him since the beginning. 

Day fell into night. Time passed. The two remained in each others’ arms, watching the sunset over what he was sure had once been a beautiful world, but had become nothing more than a piece of corruption and sadness. 

“Should we go back…?” Newt asked gently, his pointer finger tracing over the features of Thomas’ face. The line of his lips, the arch of his cheekbones, the curve of his nose. Thomas’ eyes were closed, and his dark lashes seemed so long on his cheeks. He was beautiful, Newt thought. Undeniably, unwaveringly. Despite all the suffering and all the grief, he was still so beautiful. 

“No.” Thomas answered quietly, “They’ve taken enough from me already. A future, a past. Memories. They can’t have you too. Not yet.” 

Newt felt Thomas’ arms tighten around him, and he went on tracing Thomas’ face, slowly moving down to trace a finger against the other boy’s collarbone. It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t they have been born before the flares, before the virus, before WICKED? Why couldn’t they have peace together? Why were they expected to fulfil some special purpose, when instead, they could just have each other? Newt felt like screaming out in frustration. It was so unfair. He felt overwhelmed with anger, with sadness, with fear. What now? What now?  _ What now? _

*

“Don’t look at him. Why are you looking at him? He’s not going to help you. Look at me.” Newt felt a rush of affection for Gally at the words. At the way he said them. Everyone knew. Even Teresa. There was no secret to any of it anymore. Cards on the table. They all knew Newt was dying. They all knew Thomas would kill him. They all knew it would break both of them beyond repair. Newt would stop breathing, but Thomas would be forced to kill his soulmate. Surely, some part of Thomas would die with him. Newt hated the thought, but he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do to combat that now.

Thomas sat on a chair in front of him, and Newt leaned on a table behind. They weren’t touching in any way, but they were close together, and Thomas would glance back every few seconds at him. He was worried about Teresa too though. Newt hated that. He tried not to, but he hated that. He understood it was all complicated for Thomas, that Teresa had been like a sister to him, but he still hated it. He hated it because while he knew Thomas saw her as a sister, he saw how she looked at him. He could never forgive her for what had happened to Minho. He would never even try. She didn’t deserve forgiveness. She didn’t deserve lenience. 

When she took the chip from Newt’s neck, she spoke to him softly. 

“Are you afraid?” She asked. 

Newt was terrified. He wasn’t going to tell Teresa that. “Of death? No. Death would be better than what you’ve done to Minho.” He said it as icily as he could. Teresa had been his friend once too-- someone he trusted. But his loyalty would always lay with Minho and Thomas. Always. The moment she hurt one of them (and she had done so plenty), she had been burned from Newt’s heart for good. 

“Of what it will do to Thomas?” 

_ Yes. _

“You have no right to ask me about that.” Newt answered quickly, his voice sharp and irritated. She was the reason what happened would kill Tommy. She was the reason Newt would die like this at all. The reason the veins had grown so fierce and dominant that they covered Thomas’ name on his right arm. Already, he could feel himself being burned away with the mark of the man he loved. He had to consciously try to keep himself calm, especially where it pertained to his friends.

“You know, if we could find a cure then you—”

“If you could find a cure, Thomas’ name wouldn’t be on my arm.” He snapped. “But clearly you can’t. You tortured us all for nothing, and now I’m going to lose myself. Whatever you want to say to me to try to justify the things you’ve done, save it. I’m not your target audience.”

She was silent for a moment, and Newt was glad. 

“Are we done here?” He asked flatly. She nodded, and Newt got to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain in his neck and in his lungs. He couldn’t let himself lose control. Not now. He wasn’t ready yet.

He prayed to whatever deity he’d never believed in that he could hold on long enough to get Minho and Thomas to safety. Just that long. Just that long. After that, he didn’t care. After that, fate could run its course. He wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t argue.

“Newt?” Frypan approached more quietly than usual, his dark eyes scanning Newt’s face with obvious concern. Newt eyed him, waiting for whatever word of concern was going to come next. “You alright, man?”

“Yeah,” He grumbled, moving to get jackets and pass them out amongst his friends. “Wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire though.” He managed. 

Frypan half smiled at him, “It’s affecting you?” He asked quietly.

Newt nodded. No point arguing it, they all knew what was happening. Newt was losing himself already. To anger and pain and frustration. There was already no going back. “I’m fine.” He said quickly. “Promise. I’m just… irritated. And she doesn’t help.”

He glanced back over her in her direction, where she was obviously quietly talking to Thomas. Newt hated it, but he wouldn’t let his anger win. Not now. Not yet.  _ Minho.  _ He had to save his best friend first. He would accept nothing less. 

He wanted to say something, to interrupt their discussion, out of fear Teresa would manipulate him in some way, but before he even could, Gally interrupted them. Newt was reminded again of why he and Gally had always gotten along. He didn’t pull any punches, and Newt respected that. He was very similar, in a lot of ways, and he could respect the way Gally faced things. Head on. He also appreciated Gally handling it so he didn’t have to.

It was only a moment later that Gally was carting Teresa off again, and Newt felt like he could breathe a sigh of relief. He was sitting on the ground, far from everyone else. He knew Brenda and Gally and Fry and everyone else were floating around doing things, but he just needed a moment. A break. He was overwhelmed, and based on how little anyone bothered him, they all knew it. They all knew things were falling apart. That Newt was falling apart.

After a moment, Thomas dropped down beside Newt and before Newt even knew it, arms were wrapped tightly around him. Newt let himself be pulled into Thomas’ arms, happily melting into him, tucking his face into Thomas’ neck, breathing in the smell of his lover and best friend. He would’ve wrapped his own arms around Thomas, but instead, he was virtually being cradled. Newt couldn’t think of another time in his entire life that he had been held like this.

Hell, Newt wasn’t used to being the one who someone sought to look after. He spent so much time being terrified for everyone else. For Minho, for Thomas, for Fry, for Gally. He spent so much time worrying, so little time thinking about the life and hope that was being stolen from him. It was easier, he thought, to focus on the sense of purpose he got from helping other people than to focus on himself now. To focus on them, because he would have a reason to keep going despite the looming horrors of his future.

But this moment… it made him feel safe. And looked after. He needed this moment, he realised, and he could’ve broken into sobs then and there in Thomas’ arms, because he knew, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, that this was the last time he’d get to be like this. Cradled in Thomas’ arms, safe and loved, with the world momentarily on hold. 

He wished this could stretch on forever. He wished they could have this time forever. Thomas was talking to him, but his words were nothing important. Meaningless words whispered more in order to calm him than anything else. And it did. It did calm him, because where he curled up in Thomas’ arms, he realised that in the three or four years of his life he actively remembered, he’d never felt loved like this. He’d never been held like this. 

They didn’t have much time before the plan would go into action, and this moment of softness was a short, fleeting reprieve from all the horror. 

*

Thomas crouched beside Gally, looking back at Newt with terrified eyes. He watched as Newt coughed desperately, his body seeming thinner and more tired than it had been before. He could see how quickly Newt was falling apart, and he was sure he was falling apart with him. 

Minho was back. He was alive. He was okay. They’d achieved their one goal, and yet, Newt was slipping through his fingers very quickly. He’d thought he had more time. They had the serum. They had enough to at least keep him going a little longer while they figured out more. He truly, truly thought they had more time. 

“We’re going to make it,” Gally told him resolutely, and Thomas felt like he might be sick there and then. He couldn’t do it. He’d promised Newt, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill him. He wouldn’t. He refused. 

Newt had never asked him  _ how  _ he’d do it if he had to. They’d never spoken about it again after the day Thomas had promised he would if he had no other choice. He tried not to think about it. He tried to ignore the pressing, suffocating fear of it all, because he didn’t accept that Newt was going to die. He had never accepted it, not really. He still didn’t accept it now, but it was suddenly feeling far more real. Far more terrifying. 

He watched Minho and Newt talk, and felt his heart break. He wouldn’t give up hope though. Not now.

It was only minutes later they were deciding. Minho would run. Gally would protect him. Thomas would stay with Newt. Thomas would protect Newt. Thomas would keep Newt’s heart beating, no matter what. 

“Take it,” Newt was thrusting the thing at him and Thomas couldn’t think. This was a goodbye. This was Newt giving up. Thomas couldn’t take that, Newt couldn’t give up, he didn’t accept it. Newt was the love of his life and the world couldn’t exist without him in it. What was any of it worth without Newt? Paradise, safety, freedom? None of it meant shit without him.

“Please, Tommy.  _ Please.”  _ Thomas took the necklace, held it tightly in one hand, hauled Newt up in the other. They would meet the others halfway. They would keep moving. He would keep Newt alive. He had to keep Newt alive.

Time felt like it was moving wrong. It all felt false and inconsequential, like every beat of his heart was ten years long. Like every moment in time was fleeting so fast that he couldn’t grip it, couldn’t hold onto Newt, even with the boy gripped tight in his arms. 

Newt was nearly dead weight. Thomas was nearly dragging him. Thomas was terrified. He couldn’t do this. He  _ wouldn’t  _ do this. Newt had to survive this. 

“You can still save him. Come Back. Come back to me.” Thomas barely heard her. He didn’t believe her. And even if he did, it didn’t matter. 

Newt was swinging at him, fighting him, and Thomas didn’t care. He didn’t care if Newt killed him. But some part of him, some survival instinct kept him fighting back. Kept him jumping away. Kept him making desperate pleas for his soulmate, trying with whatever he had to pull Newt back to him, back to the land of the living. 

He fell to the ground with a painful crack; knew he was bleeding. Newt was on top of him, fighting him, snapping at him like a rabid dog, and Thomas wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so much and so little all at once. Whatever biological force kept him breathing, kept him fighting, was completely disconnected from his heart. His heart wanted to let it be over with. His heart wanted to keep holding on until Minho got back. His heart kept telling him Newt  _ had  _ to survive this. That he had to see the Safe Haven. The paradise. 

Newt grabbed for his gun, had it to his temple, and Thomas acted on pure instinct, shoving it from Newt’s hands with as much force as he could muster. It only seemed to make Newt angrier. Thomas didn’t care. Newt still breathed. His heart still pumped. Whilst he was alive at all, there was hope.

But then they were on their feet again, and Thomas screamed for Newt to come back to him, and Newt made inhuman noises that didn’t belong to him, and the world had lurched so far off its axis that Thomas couldn’t even be sure he was still alive and breathing. 

But then Newt sounded human again. He sounded strained, twisted, like he might be biting out words through broken bones, but he was himself. Enough of himself. Not the animalistic thing he was before, but some middle place. Neither Newt nor crank. 

“Kill me!” He screamed as he ran at Thomas. Thomas dodged him lithely, wishing he didn’t. Wishing he could let this end. This horrible, eternal, waking nightmare. He knew he would never leave this place. Neither in mind nor in heart. He would live here for as long as he breathed, trapped in his soulmate’s dying moments. 

“You promised you would kill me!” He shrieked, more animalistic sounding with every word. “You promised! I never asked anything from you! I followed you everywhere, I protected you, I stayed with you, and you can’t do this one thing for me?! If you ever loved me, be the fucking hero you’re meant to be and  _ kill me!” _

Any hope Thomas had left shattered before his eyes. Newt would not leave this place. He would not survive this. Thomas could not defeat fate or predestination, or whatever the hell this horrific, painful journey had been. 

“No!” He whispered, his heart shuddering and breaking in his chest. “No, no, no, no, no…”

“Kill me!” It was bloodcurdling and painful to hear, it felt like ice encircling his heart, leaving him empty and hollow.  _ “Kill me!” _

“No, no, no, I can’t, Newt, I can’t,” He was sobbing, he could hear it in his own voice. Newt didn’t look like himself at all. His eyes had blown wide and bloodshot, tinted a sickly colour, as though he was a rabid animal. The veins that had crept up his body all along had taken over his face now. Creeping and twisting over his cheekbones and into his eyes. Insidious and corrosive.

“Tommy,” Newt’s words were soft, and for a moment, just one moment, he looked like himself. His eyes were crystal clear, though troubled and heartbroken, and his hands were suddenly gentle on Thomas’ shoulders. “Please, Tommy. Please. I love you.”

And so, with his heart sinking into an endless, infinite abyss from which it would never return, Thomas felt his knife sink into Newt’s chest. 

*

_ Dear Tommy, _

_ This is the first letter I can remember writing. Obviously I don’t know if I ever wrote any before the Maze, but even if it isn’t my first, it’s likely to be my last.  _

_ I want you to know that I’m not scared. Well, not of dying anyway. It’s more forgetting. It’s losing myself, and you, to this virus. Every time I close my eyes, I try to remember the little moments that made this little, fragile life worth living. I remember Chuck, and the way he giggled whenever anyone made even the worst jokes. I remember Alby, how he looked out for everyone right from the beginning. I remember Winston, how he died trying to give us all time to escape.  _

_ I think of Frypan. He’s effervescent, and wonderful, and too funny to have been warped and manipulated by these people and this world. I even miss his awful stew, though I never thought I would. _

_ I think of Gally. Of that spear in his chest, and how afraid he seemed then. I hated him once too, but I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive him. He tried his best. Isn’t that all any of us have ever done?  _

_ I think of Minho. Of how he saved my life, how he’s the only reason I got to meet you at all. I remember how he laughs, and how deeply he cares for everyone, even when he doesn’t know how to say it.  _

_ And of course, I remember you. I remember the first day you came up in that box, just a scared little Greenie who couldn’t even remember his own name. I desperately wanted to hate you. I wanted you to be nobody. I wanted to run and hide. But from the moment you ran into that maze, I knew. I would follow you anywhere. And I have.  _

_ If I could do it all over again, I would. _

_ The only thing I would ever change is how long it took me to let you in. But I was terrified of hurting you, and even more terrified of losing you.  _

_ My hope for you is that when you look back years from now, you’ll be able to say the same. I know what you’ve done. I know what you’ve lost. But please remember that you’ve given me an extraordinary mercy. I didn’t want to be a monster. I didn’t want to hurt the people I loved. I didn’t want to disappear into nothing. I wanted to die as myself. I wanted to die in your arms.  _

_ I know you’ll find a way to do what’s right. You always have. Take care of everyone for me. And take care of yourself. I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you. You deserve to be happy. _

_ Thank you. For being my friend, my ally, my partner, my soulmate, and my killer. I have loved every part of you, and I will go to my grave never regretting a moment I got with you. _

_ Goodbye, love. _

_ Newt.  _


End file.
